Thursday, February 28, 2013

The Larry

Once again, the two leggers are up to something. 

Once again, they are trying to hide it from me, but I will not be fooled.

While they think I am asleep or not looking, they cast furtive glances my way. They believe that I have not noticed that their suitcases have migrated from the guestroom closet to the space under their bed. I suspect that they are once again plotting an escape.  All the evidence supports my theory. The suitcases, the unexplained studying of map thingies, the tidying of papers and documents.

They have even gone so far as to introduce me to a new two legged minion, The Larry, and shown him where my food is kept. He has been given a key to my house and shown how to activate the burger alarm. I do not know why the two leggers installed the burger alarm last year, we have had no illicit burger intrusions, but I suspect that it has something to do with the diet that the female is always threatening the male with.

As I suspected, the following morning, my two leggers rose early and after bribing us with a 2am snack, suddenly grabbed their bags and sprinted for the door. About eight hours later, The Larry showed up and gave us more food.

The Larry perplexes me. He is approximately the same age as my two leggers.  Much like my male two legger, he has graying hair. His voice is soft and gravelly. He is always quick with a smile and seems terminally cheerful, bordering on jolly. This seemingly eternal happiness would be annoying enough, but I have also come to the realization that he is also fraternizes with dog thingies. When he comes to visit, he is often accompanied by a smallish black and white canine. Through much investigation, I have discovered that this dog thingy’s name is “Harlequin” or “Harlie” for short.
Over the years, I have decided that there are basically four types of dog thingies:
1.       Quivering Buggy-Eyed Mini-Mutts- QBEMM’s usually stand no more than one tailspan at the shoulder. They are often carried by their two leggers and usually attired in sweaters, bows, little hats or any combination therein. When left to their own devices, they will sit and shake uncontrollably while making annoying yipping sounds. (See also Rodentia)
2.       Large Slobbering Hellbeasts-The LSH is characterized by low- intelligence, but makes up for their mental deficiency with sheer size and brute strength. They can usually be found chewing on bulldozers and intimidating large boulders.
3.      Floofy Sissy Pups- FSP’s are the most useless, but least offensive of the canine organisms. They strut around inviting the world to admire them while serving absolutely no definable purpose. They spend most of their day being combed, groomed and looking in mirrors.
4.      Psycho-Nut Hyper Pooches- PNHP’s are the most annoying denizens of the Canine Kingdom. They spend their time chasing their tails, chasing sticks, finding more sticks to chase, jumping up and down for no particular reason, barking at brainwaves, chasing the tails of other dog thingies, running in circles, catching Frisbees, chasing more sticks, and sometimes, they will chase sticks. They are obviously caffeine addicts and I suspect that they may also experiment with other recreational drugs.
      Without a question, Harlie is a PNHP.

Every time The Larry visits, Harlie immediately leaps from his vehicle and begins grabbing sticks that she takes to The Larry in the expectation that he will throw said stick. After The Larry tosses the stick, Harlie will chase it down, subdue it by drowning it in five gallons of slobber and then return the stick to The Larry thus creating a never-ending slobber-infused cycle. As far as I can discern, this exercise serves no purpose other than coating virtually every stick in my Kingdom in disgustingly drippy doggy drool.

At first I thought that perhaps canine saliva may serve as an organic fertilizer, however. Not one of the affected sticks has begun to sprout roots nor shown any sign of new growth. The sticks seem to gain no benefit from their constant coating.

Then I thought that maybe Harlie acted in this manner to irritate The Larry, but this has proven to be false because The Larry never seems irritated.

Finally, I reached the conclusion that in her uniquely dog-like instinct, she was seeking to entertain The Larry. Perhaps The Larry enjoys handling items that are totally drenched in animal spit.

I decided to test my hypothesis. The next time The Larry came, I distracted him while Ivan ate his car keys and then regurgitated them onto the floor in front of him.

The Larry did not seem entertained.

Next time, I’ll make Ivan eat a stick.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

The Undiscovered Country Part II

In our last episode, I had discovered a large space above the ceiling of my house. After waiting until the two leggers had gone to bed, Ivan and I began to explore this vast region.

And now I continue the narrative where I left off, with Ivan and I having just crossed the Plain of The Wild Dust Bunnies:

As we continued our trek, I was struck by stark bareness of this room. It is my belief that the female two legger has never stepped foot in this area. My reasoning is sound. There is not a single space in my house that the female has not painted, repainted and painted again at least once every two years. Yet the walls here were raw, unfinished wood. Boards stretched in uniformity from wall to wall to ceiling, forming a lattice-like structure similar to an upside down bridge thingy. The whispy leavings of eight leggers shone like gossamer threads in the small amount of starlight showing through vents set into the walls at either end of the room.

Just ahead, the room turned at a sharp angle to the left. This led to the space directly above the bedroom of the two leggers. I could just make out the sound of the male still snoring. His snoring was now accompanied by that of the female. "Snoooooooovvski" (she often snores in Russian) came the whisper of her gentle snooze.

At the bend of the room, we came upon a most incredible sight: Scattered across the floor lay the semi-mummified remains of a large group of deceased mousie thingies. Yes, we had discovered the location of the mythical "Lost Mousie Thingy Graveyard". Scientists have speculated for days that since they never find the bodies of mice that have died of natural causes, there must be somewhere that they go to die when it is "their time". I have always thought this ridiculous because in my opinion, any mouse that is killed by a cat, has died of "natural causes". Be that as it may, I have now given creditability to their theory.

Around us they lay in various states of decay, from stinky fresh to dried bone ancient. Finally finding a mousie thingy that he was capable of catching, Ivan jumped among the bones and using two of the skulls as puppets, began an impromptu puppet show. Now, I admit that I enjoy a puppet show as much as the next cat, but Ivan's rendition of  Abbot and Costello's "Who's On First?" routine had me rolling with the giggles.

I was in such a fit of laughter, that I failed to realize that the snoring had stopped and Tiger Lily was whining out the alarm.

Suddenly, the murky darkness was stabbed by the ray of a flashlight shining across the room and the silhouette of the male two legger in the hatchway. Thinking fast, I jumped upon the freshest of the rodent carcasses and with a great hissing and show of strength, I wrestled it until it lay lifeless in my mouth. I then trotted up and laid the body in front of him. He was so thrilled that he took me into his arms and whisked me off to the kitchen where he gave the conquering hero a large portion of tuna.

As the two legger turned to go back to bed, he was knocked off of his feet by Ivan sliding down the hallway.

Apparently, mouse skulls make great skates.......

Monday, February 18, 2013

Ivan Gets A Job Thingy

As many of you may have noticed, I have a new badge thingy on the right side of my blog thingy.

The World's Best Cat Litter has asked that I be one of their "Catvocates". What this entails is that I will be testing and reviewing their products before they are released to the public at large. It will also mean that my minions/followers will be entitled to special offers from WBCL. I see it as a win/win all around.
    My first assignment as a Catvocate will be to test and review a new type of litter that I should be receiving some time next week. After pondering this task for a while, I have realized a flaw in this plan:

Everyone knows that my fecal matter does not stink.

Therefore, in order to give this new sooper-dooper cat litter a true test, I have assigned Ivan to be the Royal Litter Tester.

I will order the two leggers to use the new litter in 50% of my litter boxes, and continue to use our other WBCL product in the other 50% of my boxes. This will enable me to observe several things:

A. Does it kill Ivan's odor?
B. Does it kill Ivan?
C. Which product will Ivan prefer to use?
D. Will it just confuse Ivan? (highly likely)
E. Does it clump better or worse than the original?
F. Can I use it to sow hate and discontent among my two leggers?

Ivan's ego has inflated since I told him of his new responsibilities. He is now requesting a badge thingy as well as his own private office. I told him that this was a secret experiment and therefore his badge was invisible. I also assigned Royal Litterbox # 3 to be his office. He is now in there trying to figure out the best place to put his desk.

I will be posting the results of my study soon.

Friday, February 15, 2013

The Undiscovered Country

The closet at the end of the hallway beckons.

This closet is a smallish room of many wonders. It is a closely guarded two legger secret. It is the one place in my kingdom that has been deemed "off limits" to me and the other four legged denizens of my house. For the last four years, Ivan, Tiger Lily, Jaq, and I have been attempting to gain access to this mysterious space. Whenever a two legger hangs up a coat or places their boots within this closet, one or all of us will attempt entry through means of deception or outright brute force.

Alas to no avail. Our attempts are always thwarted by a strategically placed leg or quickly slammed door.

Until today.

Today, while Ivan lay sleeping the innocent sleep of the witless, I decided that his smack levels were dangerously low. Being the caring ruler that I am, I decided to give him a dose of smacks which caused him to awaken in a panic and run as fast as his stubby little legs would carry him to the bathroom. In a fortunate bit of misfortune, Ivan failed to negotiate the turn at the end of the hallway and slammed into the closet door, springing the lock and causing the door to swing slowly open.

Cue angelic music.

I crept slowly towards the door, ears flat, tail slightly twitching. Upon entering the closet, I quickly realized that I had discovered The Lost Colony of Fugitive Catnip Mousie Thingies. Unaware of my approach, they lounged on the floor among the boots of the two leggers. In a frenzy of frisky delight, I pounced among them and wrestled, bit and kicked them into submission.

 As I surveyed the closet, I saw coats, sweaters, scarfs and hats hanging from hooks and a central rod. The side shelves were stacked with old board games and miscellany. But what really caught my attention was just above the top shelf.

It was a large rectangular opening in the ceiling. I climbed the shelves and found myself directly beneath the dark hole. I found that by stretching to my full length, I could just see over the rim of the opening. The portal led to a dark dusty room that stretched the entire length and breadth of my house. It was at this point that I heard the sound of the two leggers returning home from work. I quickly decided that I should wait until they slept before continuing my exploration. By the time they entered my house, I had climbed down and managed to push the door closed without re-engaging the lock.

For now, I would wait......

And plot.

I called a meeting of my fellow felines and informed them of my plans to go where no cat has gone before. I assigned each of them very specific duties. Ivan would accompany me and be prepared to slay anything that may annoy me. Tiger Lily would stand as a lookout at the door of the two legger's bedroom, giving us warning lest they awaken and discover our mission of discovery. I assigned Jaq the task of providing a soundtrack for our grand adventure. It is a requirement that all great heroes have a stirring musical overture thingy. Indiana Jones, Jame Bond, Superman, John Wayne and Peewee Herman are examples of this rule.

We watched and waited as the two leggers went through their nightly rituals. The female went to bed around 11pm. The male took his nightly bath at 11:45. The tension in the hallway steadily built. At exactly 11:52, I could stand it no more and smacked Tiger Lily repeatedly (This has nothing to do with the narrative, but I felt it worth mentioning).

Finally at 12:18 am, we heard the welcome sound of the male exiting the bathroom and settling next to the female.

Soon our patience was rewarded by the the unholy sound of "SNAAAAAAAAWK!" coming from the bed. The male had begun to snore. After a short time, the "SNAAAAAAAAWK!" turned to "S'NAUQUE!". When the male begins to snore in French, I know he is well and truly asleep.

Leaving Tiger Lily stationed at the bedroom door, Ivan and I entered the closet. We paused at the door to consider the carnage of the earlier catnip mousie massacre. However, knowing that we only had seven or eight hours before the two leggers would be waking for the new day, I determined that we should make the best of the time we had and continue our exploration. As we started to climb the shelves, we could hear Jaq below us softly singing "Climb Every Mountain" in a passable imitation of Julie Andrews.

We quickly ascended to the top shelf and I nimbly leaped through the opening in the ceiling. Ivan stood below me, looking up, unsure if he could propel his bulk to such an altitude. I quickly settled his dilemma by saying "Wow! Lookit all this food!". Ivan magically appeared next to me, but was unamused when he realized that he'd been tricked yet again. 

As we looked around us, Jaq began humming "Spirit In The Sky". We beheld a very large, dusty room. Wires of all types stretched here, there and yonder. Boxes were stacked in random corners, leaving a vast plain where herds of wild dust bunnies roamed. I had to physically restrain Ivan from immediately going all Jungle King on the nearest herd. As we explored the space, we found ourselves directly above the shelf where the female two legger keeps her most treasured knock knacks. Only 1.5 inches of sheet rock separated me from the porcelian penguin that I had been longing to destroy for years.

Next time I'm bringing a drill.

To Be Continued.....

Monday, February 11, 2013

Utter Cupidity

In the two and a half years that I have been writing my blog thingy, I have never failed to share my musings on the myriad of two legger holidays.  I have spoken on Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Mother's Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and New Year's Day. I believe I have covered every major American holiday.

With one exception.

Valentine's Day.

Given the fact that I am neutered, I believe my minions can understand this omission.

However, I believe the time has come to sprinkle some droplets of wisdom upon the parched fields of their roses.

Admittedly, Valentine's Day is the one holiday that confuses me.

First a little history:
Valentine's Day is named after an ancient two legged priest named St. Valentine. He was remarkable because he had wings, wore a diaper and flew around shooting arrows at people. In most instances this would have been considered bad manners and he would have been trapped and committed to a room with rubber walls. However in St. Val's case, whomever was struck by his arrows fell immediately in love with the next person they saw, took the red-eye to Vegas and got married by an Elvis impersonator.  This soon became the standard by which all two legger romance would be judged.

 To commemorate the holiday, American male two leggers, when they remember, give their mates a variety of gifts to symbolize their affection. I list a few below:
1. Chocolate- Artfully arranged in a large heart-shaped box, this is the perfect gift for the females who as a whole generally obsess about their weight.
2. Flowers- Giving a large bouquet that until recently were a beautiful, blossoming example of nature's beauty, but now that they have been cut down are destined to wither and rot within the next 72 hours is a fantastic expression of undying love.
3. Romantic Dinner- Taking her to a dimly lit setting and once again, feeding rich food to someone who is obsessed about their weight seems like a great idea.
4. I was gonna say "Jewelry", but given that my two leggers work in a jewelry store, perhaps I should pass on this one.

In other countries, male two leggers give their mates different gift thingies. For instance:
In Canada, they give maple syrup and hockey tickets.
In France, wine, cheese, baguettes and a snide look.
In England, a pint of ale, fish & chips and a breath mint.
In Russia, a bottle of vodka and furry boots.
In New Zealand, rugby tickets and a ......well, just rugby tickets.
And in Arkansas, a keg of Budweiser, NASCAR tickets and a goat.

Bottom line, the male two leggers spend one week per year attempting to show the female two leggers that they love, adore and cherish them. The second week of February is devoted to proving their devotion and dedication to their mates. They spend loads of money buying cards, candy, meals, flowers and jewelry in order to win the hearts of their loved ones.

Therein lies my confusion.

Wouldn't it be cheaper and less stressful if they simply used smaller, more meaningful gestures throughout the entire year to prove their affection rather than compressing it into one expensive and commercialized day? Would it not be more effective to treat them like they would like to be treated 52 two weeks per year rather than one or two days per year?

Perhaps, if they opened a car door, or complimented their hair, or asked them if they had lost weight, or chased them through the kitchen naked with a spatula and a can of whipped cream more often, the February love rush would last the entire year.

 Yes, even I have been known to show the occasional romantic gesture. Why, just the other day, I only smacked Tiger Lily on the ear instead of a full-frontal tabby smack.

And by all means, please give them flowers more often. Not only do they make her smile, but it gives us feline types something to destroy in the wee hours of the night.

Finally, according to my two leggers, you should buy jewelry all year round. Lots of jewelry. Big expensive diamonds. Fist sized rubies and enough gold to bankrupt third-world countries.

For those of my minions spending Valentine's day alone this year, Ivan is available. He and the big stuffed bunny have decided to see other people.

Friday, February 8, 2013

Wetted Bliss

Ivan has a dirty little secret.

Well, Ivan has a lot of dirty little secrets.

Okay, Ivan's dirty little secrets aren't nearly as secret as they were before I started my blog thingy, but a few still remain secret.

After tonight, he'll have one fewer.

Ivan wets the bed.

No, he is not incontinent. He was not abused by his mother. He doesn't have "Daddy issues". He does not have mental issues.

Allow me to rephrase that: This is not one of his mental issues.

Ivan wets the bed because it amuses him. I shall explain:

Every night around 10:30, the female two legger takes her bath. During the bath taking portion of the evening, Ivan lolls on the heated floor of the bathroom like a large stinky bathmat. He appears to be enjoying the radiant heat of the floor, but he is in all actuality simply biding his time. Once the female pulls the plug allowing the water to drain from the tub thingy, Ivan mounts the side of the tub thingy and watches the water level drop. Once the water reaches a level he deems acceptable, approximately .5 inches (64 sillimeters for those of you in other countries with your funky metric system), Ivan jumps into the tub thingy and begins dancing around in a comical manner. He shakes each paw repeatedly as though surprised that his paws are soaked even though he has experienced this sensation at least once a night for the past four years.

After 30 seconds of shaking and bouncing, Ivan remembers that he is a cat and therefore detests water. He leaps out of the tub thingy with a trill and bolts from the bathroom. Upon exiting the bathroom, Ivan spots the two legger's bed. Now we all know that Ivan is no mental giant. In fact, mental midgets are forced to watch where they step lest they trod upon him, but like all felines, Ivan is aware that there is no better way to dry wet paws than upon 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Cujo Fun Fact # 271- The paws of a cat can absorb up to 46 times their body weight in water.

While the female unknowingly finishes her nightly bathroom rituals, Ivan manages to get every last bit of moisture transferred from his paws to the bed linens.

Little wet paw prints now adorn the bed, pillows and comforter. Given the fact that the lights have been dimmed prior to bath time, the female two legger usually fails to notice that the bed has now become a mire of mattress moisture. Laying down, she suddenly shrieks, leaps from the bed and chases him from the bedchamber.

Ironically, in her anger, she sprays him with the water squirty thingy thereby wetting him once again.

It is a vicious circle.

But in my experience, the best circles are the vicious ones.